


Observer

by niðavellir (KingPreussen)



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Art appreciation, Developing Relationship, M/M, Spideypool Big Bang 2018, Strangers to Lovers, art gallery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-07 03:51:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15210302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingPreussen/pseuds/ni%C3%B0avellir
Summary: Immediately after Peter flipped the lock on his bedroom window and shoved it open, a blast of hot air washed into his room. He groaned but didn't just flop back into bed like he wanted to--instead he leaned over, carefully closed the window again, and sighed.---Peter, the acting director and docent of a Brooklyn photography gallery, has his normal, boring day-to-day shaken up by an art appreciating stranger.





	1. Lighting

**Author's Note:**

> for the [spideypool big bang](http://spideypoolfanfic.tumblr.com/tagged/bigbang2018)! my prompt was: "you work at a museum and I like to come by a lot in my free time and wait why do you seem to follow me around from exhibit to exhibit" i did kind of an inverse remix of the main prompt, but i hope the prompter (whoever they are) still likes it!
> 
> i am three and a half hours late with this so... please accept my apology!
> 
> some background because this is an au: peter is not spider-man in this universe! the gallery is a complete fabrication and is not intended to resemble any actual gallery. everything else will come later
> 
> this heat wave is killing me. today it seemed to break a bit, which gives me hope...

Immediately after Peter flipped the lock on his bedroom window and shoved it open, a blast of hot air washed into his room. He groaned but didn't just flop back into bed like he wanted to--instead he leaned over, carefully closed the window again, and sighed.

The heat wave smothering New York was already a week in progress and showed no signs of cooling down. At first, the heat riled everyone up, causing more gang fights and petty robberies and screeching sirens in the middle of the night. Seven days in and the city was quiet and relatively calm. If anyone wasn't inside it was because they had fled to New Jersey.

Peter himself didn't think of leaving for even a moment. Not only was he strongly attached to New York (Harry liked to joke that he got the city's soul instead of a human one when he was born), he was also only three months into his new job and felt uncomfortable asking the largely reclusive owner for time off.

Three years ago, physics and photography major Peter Parker assumed he would be in graduate school by now. He would be writing papers for grants and spending hours in the lab; academics was what he knew and loved. But burnout hit him hard and fast right after graduation and he decided to get a job straight out of school.

There were very little positions open for a person with a bachelors in physics. Most entry-level jobs were for the wet sciences like biology, where there wasn't too much extra theory going into growing bacteria or creating solutions. So Peter had to start looking for work in his other degree--and luckily, right when he started, the perfect position opened up.

Peter quickly got ready to leave for work, packing his usual uniform of black jeans and a black button down in order to wear shorts and a tank top on the way to work. He took an extra second to make his bed for good luck and then left his apartment and locked up behind himself.

Somehow, the heat was even worse on the ground. Peter temporarily avoided it by ducking into his favorite bodega on Wyckoff.

"Morning Papi," he called to the counter on his way to the freezers in the back. He adjusted his messenger bag over his shoulder, wincing at the stickiness underneath the strap, and opened the glass to grab an iced coffee. The cord of his headphones immediately got tangled around his wrist and he bemoaned the lack of funds for some AirPods, but really he had survived this long without them.

He set the bottle on the counter and smiled, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. "Bacon-egg-and-cheese. And this." Peter dug into his bag for his wallet and dropped a five on the counter.

"Drink water, _conejito_ , it's hot," Papi said, unlit cigarette in one side of his mouth, and handed Peter his sandwich. "Not coffee all day. Don't die."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Papi, I won't," he said dismissively. Then he tucked his sandwich and a pile of napkins into his bag, took his coffee, and left with a wave.

Fortunately Peter's job was only four stops from his house, so he just had to suck it up and get on the metro. The trains ran at a snail's pace on a good day and for the past month had been like hell on earth. Peter kept his head down and intently listened to his music, trying to ignore all the commuters around him.

When he arrived above ground again, Peter only had about a block to walk before he reached the East Side Gallery. It wasn't a huge building, but it stood shiny glass and chrome with hints of the colorful pictures inside, and during tourist season it attracted a ton of visitors. Peter unlocked one of the glass double doors and slipped inside, relieved again by the AC.

On some days it was a struggle to run an entire gallery alone. Most of the exhibits were photography, which made it easier to help people who wanted more information on the artists or techniques, but sometimes the sheer amount of people on the floor made him nervous.

Other times people just wanted to duck in for a moment to get out of the heat, which Peter didn't prevent. He just reminded them not to touch any of the displays and left them to it. The owner was only paying him to make sure the art was properly displayed, not keep the building free of loiterers.

After Peter dressed in his unofficial uniform he left his bag in the back, bringing his breakfast to the front. The gallery was technically open as soon as he was there to open the doors--ten am Tuesday through Saturday--but it was rare for anyone to come in before noon.

Peter regularly used the hugely expensive iMac the owner bought for front desk operations to edit his own photos, so he cracked open his iced coffee and settled down for a long morning of Photoshop. To his surprise, he was only able to work in silence for a few minutes before the door opened again.

"Hello," Peter greeted the visitor, pasting a wide smile on his face. 

The person who came in was mostly covered despite the heat and Peter felt a sympathetic hot flash run through him. He was wearing a large black hoodie with the hood pulled up, and his hands were stuffed into his pockets. Peter could see the bill of a snapback beneath the hood, the underside colored bright red.

The covered man startled at his voice, taking a step back. "Sorry," he said. His voice was higher than Peter expected and he didn't make any move to remove his hood.

Peter's smile became a little more genuine. If there was one thing he could identify with, it was social anxiety. "Don't apologize! You can look around as long as you'd like." He paused for a moment. "If there's anything you want to know I can help! I'm Peter."

"Wade," the man said. He didn't offer his hand for Peter to shake, instead making a beeline for the back of the gallery. Peter blinked, confused, but eventually went back to his editing work. The next time he looked up, Wade was gone.

* * *

That little bit of excitement on an otherwise slow Saturday kept Peter in good spirits for the rest of the weekend. He mostly stayed inside, content to Seamless all the food he needed for the time being. He'd have to go grocery shopping in the middle of the night sometime in the next few days, but for now he wandered his studio half-naked and tried not to feel too sorry for himself.

On Tuesday morning, Peter gently eeked his window open, and then whimpered in defeat at the creeping hot air that made its way inside.

Before he left his apartment he texted Gwen about getting dinner that night. She and MJ were solidly in their honeymoon phase and Peter felt like it was his responsibility to make them see the outside world once every few weeks. They would _definitely_ be on his ass about not dating but that was a small price to pay.

Peter sighed as he pushed open the door to the bodega, the cheerfully jingling bell doing nothing to improve his mood. The fat calico that liked to lounge on the little packages of bread ambled over to him and circled sweetly around his legs. "Hi kitty," Peter said, and then louder, "Hey, Papi."

He got a bottle of water along with his iced coffee, and after exchanging pleasantries with the bodega owner went on to work. The temperature seemed to have risen by ten degrees underground and he almost turned around to go straight home, but he managed to convince himself that he already got that far and it wouldn't make financial sense to swipe back out of the metro. He gave his unopened water to a pregnant woman who looked extremely stressed by their situation and ended up talking with her until he got to his stop.

And then, just like Saturday, the door opened as soon as Peter made himself comfortable. It seemed to be the same man as before, or at least someone who was equally as wary of showing his face.

"Wade?" Peter asked, shifting to sit up with his heel underneath him. The man paused near the door. "Nice seeing you again!"

Wade briefly pulled his hand out of the front pocket of his hoodie to tug at his snapback, and then quickly re-hid it. "Yeah, uh. Peter."

This time Wade wandered the front of the gallery instead of immediately going to hide in the back. Peter tried not to seem like he was outright staring by pulling up a brand new photo to edit, but every time he peeked up above the iMac Wade was angled just slightly in his direction.

Peter figured the correct emotion for those moments was nervousness. He didn't know anything about Wade except his name--if it _was_ his real name--and they were alone in the building. Sure the front was mainly glass and the entire building was very well lit and full of security cameras. Peter had seen New Yorkers do more for less.

An hour later, after Peter had actually become engrossed in his work, he looked up and Wade was gone.

* * *

On Wednesday, Peter was running so late he didn't have a chance to get breakfast. He considered spending too much money on an Uber but quickly decided against it, and the metro chose to be kind and get him to the gallery at exactly ten.

Wade was waiting in the courtyard, head down, eyes on his phone. He didn't even seem to notice when Peter walked past him. Peter unlocked the door, held it open, and called, "Morning, Wade!"

The man startled, shoving his hands and phone into his pocket. "Mornin'," he mumbled. He seemed to have positioned himself so the sun was mostly behind him; when he looked up his face was still thrown in shadow, but Peter could sense the eyes on him getting more intense.

Confused, he looked down at himself. Ah, yes, the skimpy Traveling Outfit, which had also garnered him looks on the train. Peter fought the urge to tug the hem of his shorts lower. His automatic response was unnecessary--Wade stood up and ducked his head, looking at the sidewalk instead of at him, and the uncomfortable feeling lifted. Peter cleared his throat and motioned to the door. "Coming in?"

Wade hesitated, but after a moment he walked into the gallery and stood in front of the nearest photograph, his back to Peter. Peter left to quickly get changed and turn the lights on, and when he came back Wade was one photo over.

"I'm changing the display on Saturday," Peter said, sitting in his office chair with one foot underneath himself. Wade turned toward him, almost enough for Peter to see part of his face but not quite. "New artist. I'm getting the shipment in on Friday, and then we'll be closed for the weekend."

"Thanks. For letting me know." Wade walked over and took his hand out of his pocket, laying a hundred dollar bill on the front desk.

Peter blinked at it, and then up at Wade. "We don't charge admission. Or accept donations, sorry, it's privately owned and the owner doesn't want other people to have stake in the art, it's all legal garbage--"

Wade's hand was large and pale, covered in discolored scars and deep pockmarks. He shoved it into his jeans pocket when he caught Peter looking. "A tip?" he asked quietly.

Peter's stomach growled before he could answer. "Tell you what," he said, smiling brightly. "I haven't had breakfast yet. Why don't we order in with this," he pointed at the bill on the table, "And you can tell me which photo you like best?"

The front door opened, letting in a wave of hot air that cut through the AC even on max setting. Peter grinned apologetically at Wade before looking around him and greeting the new visitors, a small group of teens on summer vacation. By the time he finished telling them the artist on display and told them to come to him with any questions, Wade had left again, the hundred still on the desk.


	2. Props

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay! i was trying to force conflict where there wasnt any and it was slowing me down. i think i know exactly what i want to do with this fic now and i will update the rest of the chapters accordingly
> 
> (this one is light on editing because i was tired of waffling over it, but i will probably come back to it)
> 
> next chapter will have less setup and more plot

Whatever had frightened Wade off, it was enough to keep him away for the rest of the week. Peter tried not to feel too disappointed as he took down the last gallery of photographs and directed the delivery of the new ones.

This time the gallery was hosting a series paired with highly detailed tapestries of each photograph. Peter spent just as long organizing the display as he did appreciating it.

"You seem distracted," Gwen said, reaching across the small wooden table she, MJ, and Peter were sitting around. They invited _him_ out that night, surprisingly--he was apparently slower than normal in answering his texts and they were worried about him.

Peter touched his phone where it was sitting on the table. Eleven pm. "Work stuff," he answered, pushing his phone away. "New exhibit."

MJ, who was always more straightforward than her girlfriend, took a pointed sip of her black Russian. "You've had plenty of new exhibits, Peter. What's the matter?"

A cute guy with dark skin and curly hair passed by behind her and Peter sighed, resting his chin in his hand. "I guess I just need to get laid," he admitted.

Gwen laughed so hard she snorted some of her drink.

* * *

Peter didn't even attempt to open his window Tuesday morning. He shoved sunglasses from his bedside table onto his face and groaned in genuine pain, regretting the thin, decorative white curtains he had in his bedroom instead of serious blackouts.

Hanging with MJ and Gwen did wonders for Peter's self-confidence. He found that cute guy again at the front of the bar, getting his fourth drink, and by his fifth he was on his knees in the bathroom giving adrenaline-pumping stranger toppy. Thankfully they were both sober enough to use a condom.

Peter rolled over and checked his phone, disappointed to find he didn't get the guy's number. There was a message from MJ, letting him know she and Gwen got home fine, and that she was very proud of him for putting himself out there, in so many words.

When Peter arrived at work, exhausted and wishing he had thought to buy another bottle of coffee, Wade was sitting in the courtyard again. Peter raised a hand in greeting, and then unlocked the door and pushed it open for Wade to enter. All of his brainpower was going toward keeping him conscious and upright, otherwise he may have had a more clever or welcoming greeting.

"Are you feeling okay?" Wade asked. Again, if Peter could spare even a neuron, it would be excited that this was the first time Wade spoke to him without prompting.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry, long night." Peter hiked one of the straps of his tank top back over his shoulder when it started to fall and dropped his bag in his office chair. "There's… information about the artist. If you have any questions, you know where to find me."

Wade nodded and moved off to study the new exhibit while Peter rested his head on his blessedly cool desk.

* * *

"I'm really sorry about yesterday, Wade, that was entirely unprofessional of me," Peter rambled in one breath, for once actually sitting at his desk when Wade showed up. "I hope I didn't give you a bad impression."

Today, Wade's hoodie was pushed back far enough that Peter could see part of his smile. It was endearingly lopsided, one side of his mouth not rising like the other because of… a scar? Peter only had the chance to blink before Wade was in shadow again, a step further away than before.

"Nah," he said, and there was no smile in his voice. "Not unprofessional."

"We never got to have our conversation last week!" Peter hurried to add before Wade could walk away. "I'd like to hear what you thought of the last set. Over lunch?"

Peter _literally_ couldn't have felt more like that now iconic photo of Ariana Grande and Pete Davidson. He had no idea what Wade looked like, and no real sense of his personality, but for some reason the whole "tall, dark, and handsome" thing was really working for him. Peter didn't think he was the most attractive person on earth but he also couldn't remember the last time he'd had to beg for romantic attention.

Wade didn't remove his hands from his pockets, but he did stand a little bit straighter, almost enough that Peter could see his lips again. "Listen, kid. Peter." Only Wade's quick correction of himself kept Peter from interrupting with unneeded facts about his age. "I'm not… the type of person cute art students have lunch with."

"I graduated college," Peter said quietly, almost without his own permission. His reward was another glimpse of Wade smiling.

"Former art students, then."

Peter ran a hand through his hair. "I won't push. But you've been visiting for two weeks. Not something someone who's _not_ interested in art would do."

Wade snorted softly. "You'd be surprised."

* * *

Thursday passed in a blur of tourists, most of which had small children with them. Peter didn't see Wade all day. His face was strained from plastering on his "customer service" smile for hours instead of his more natural "Wade is here" smile.

At five Peter changed out of his uniform and packed his bag, more than ready to head home. The sun was still shining bright and hot and just looking outside made him feel unbearably warm again.

Not two minutes after he locked the front doors and began his walk to the nearest metro station, he felt a hard tug on his bag. He stumbled, more surprised than anything, and looked back to see a man with an anti-pollution mask pulled over his nose. His eyes were wide, like he expected Peter's (admittedly cheap-looking) bag to snap off in his hands so he could run.

But in the next moment, the man pulled again, harder. Peter scrambled backward and tried to pry the man's fingers away. 

And then, as quickly as it started, the man backed off. His eyes went wide as he looked over Peter's shoulder and then he ran in the opposite direction. Peter took a deep breath, trying to slow his racing heart, and then turned back on his path.

"Oh!" he gasped, heartbeat picking up again for a different reason. "Wade! I didn't see you today!"

Wade was wearing his normal snapback and hoodie combo, but the direct sunlight wasn't doing his shadowy nature any favors. Peter could see a network of pale scars spanning across the bottom of his face, over his chin and lips and nose. "Busy," Wade said. He reached up to adjust his hood and Peter lowered his eyes.

"Yeah, I figured." Peter scuffed his foot against the sidewalk. "Thanks for, um. Not letting me get mugged."

"No problem," Wade said, making a dismissive gesture with his shoulders. After a pause, he continued, "Let me walk you to the train?"

Peter had to bite his lip to keep from grinning too wide. "Please," he replied.


End file.
